Home Run: A Novel (14 page)

She looked away quickly and tried to remember where she was and who he was.

She was staring the center of the cyclone in the eyes. Emma knew she needed to get as far away from it as possible.

Wreckage and destruction
, a voice reminded her. Over and over again.

“It’s going to get better,” they tell him.

“Just major-league blues,” they say.

But he feels like he’s managed to come all this way to get nowhere.

On the plane late one night, his body aching and his mind and heart tired, Cory wonders if he made a mistake. A huge mistake.

He cranks up the music. But something is wrong, because instead of enjoying inspiring power rock, he’s suddenly listening to a bunch of ballads about long-lost love, and he’s thinking of Emma and Tyler.

Everybody loves Journey, right? Their greatest-hits album rocks. They’re always playing “Don’t Stop Believin’” at the parks, and he’s gotten into it.

But now these songs are making his hitting blues even worse. Songs like “Who’s Crying Now” and “Separate Ways” are making him wish his Nine Inch Nails album was nearby. But he keeps listening and can’t help thinking of them.

What if he only makes it a year or two?
a voice asks.

What if they don’t invite him up to the show?

What if he’s forced to go back home?

What if …

The plane wings its way through the night sky, and he feels lonely and empty. He wants to do just like the song says and send her his love.

Broken hearts can always mend. Can’t they, Cory Brand? Can’t they?

Time has faded, and it’s too late to send her his love or to send her anything because she has moved on.

He needs to get sleep for the game tomorrow. But he can’t. He finds the bottle of vodka and takes a few sips to try to lighten up.

The night devours the weak, but Cory vows not to be among them.

Chapter Nineteen

Checked Swing

The four walls around him felt like a prison. A prison that allowed you to go through the drive-through at McDonald’s on the way back to your cell. Cory’s stomach felt full on fast food, but he still felt empty. He’d been in the room only a few minutes before looking to see if the fridge was fully stocked. Chad hadn’t let him down.

He closed the door without taking anything.

I don’t need anything tonight. I’m fine just hanging out in this room by myself without the need to drink.

He took off his shoes and turned on the television and checked his email. He felt bored now after the full, fun day. At least the full, fun afternoon. Being around the kids reminded him of something good that had been gone for a while—that wonderful “love of the game.” Those kids loved the game, even if they had a hard time picking it up.

Emma’s smile filled his mind. Being around her had been a good thing too.

This humming deep inside his soul never turned off.

For a moment he thought of tomorrow and looked forward to the game. Emma had said there were four practices a week along with a game or two on the schedule. Cory found himself eager to go back out on the field with the team.

He looked at the fridge, ignoring the television. He knew he was going to open it, that he was going to drink tonight.

I don’t have to, but I want to. There’s a difference.

There was no point in making some grand stand, because it didn’t mean a thing. He could drink tonight, or he could not drink. But not drinking meant he’d be more bored and restless for no reason.

I can stop whenever I want.

It was hot, and he slipped off his shirt, tossing it over a chair. Once again he glanced at the fridge, as if he thought it might start talking back at him.

Nobody was there. His brother wasn’t around, and Emma wasn’t about to come by tonight. It was just him.

He checked a few messages he’d gotten from some of his female friends. He wouldn’t mind one of them stopping by, but Okmulgee was a bit far for all of them.

Cory cursed and turned up the volume of the television, resisting the urge to get something to drink.

I don’t have to, and it’s that easy. If I don’t want to, I won’t.

But nobody watched and nobody cared. Not in this motel room. Not now.

Tyler smelled like shampoo and was dripping water onto his bed. It was a little past his bedtime, but Emma still did their regular routine of reading to him. They were going through The Prydain Chronicles and were on book three,
The Castle of Llyr.
James had turned Tyler on to fantasy classics like this. Of course, the first series they’d read to him was The Chronicles of Narnia. James had wanted to read some of these easier series before diving into Harry Potter and then graduating to The Lord of the Rings.

Emma fully intended to read all of those books to Tyler even though James was no longer there. Normally Tyler was enthralled with the nightly chapter, but tonight he didn’t seem to be paying attention.

And I bet I know what he’s thinking about too.

When Emma closed the book, Tyler looked at her with curiosity.

“So you, like, dated Cory Brand in high school?”

There was the inevitable moment of Tyler meeting Cory that Emma had feared. Then there was the next inevitable moment, of Tyler learning who his real father was.

Not “real,” but technical. James was and will always be his father.

“Yeah, sweetie,” Emma said as she tucked his blanket around him.

“Was he a good baseball player in high school?”

“You kidding me? Of course he was. People would come from other schools to watch him play.”

“Really?”

“You bet.” She smiled. “He was fun to watch.”

“So then why—why didn’t you keep going out?”

Emma brushed the wet strands of hair away from his face. She couldn’t help being amused at his logic.

Cory Brand is a great baseball player, so naturally you’d want to keep dating him, right, Mom?

“He moved away to play baseball.”

She’d once thought those six words would forever sum up her life.

“Oh, cool.”

But then two other words entered her life and would forever define it.

Tyler Hargrove
.

“You think I could do that one day?” he asked her.

“Do what?”

“Play baseball like Cory Brand.”

“Then you’d have to move away from your mother,” she said, feigning a deeply serious tone. “Sorry, but I can’t allow that.”

“Mom.”

“Nope. I think you need to be a veterinarian or something.”

“No,” Tyler said. “I want be like Cory.”

You already are. So much so it scares me.

“Well, you keep practicing like today, and who knows,” she said.

Tyler had been through enough in the last year. The last thing Emma was ever going to do was tell him he couldn’t dream.

He needed to dream for the both of them. She’d stopped dreaming.

The problem with dreams was that deep down you always hoped they’d come true. And hope was a dangerous thing for Emma these days.

It had found her in a dark spot the moment James entered her life. It hurt too much to expect that hope could come walking into her life a second time.

The numbing feeling was like someone wrapping a warm towel around his knee. Except in this case, it was his head. And instead of the throbbing stopping, it was the thinking. He drank so he could stop all that thinking running around in circles in his head.

Cory wanted to call Emma. He wasn’t going to, but he wanted to. He remembered how they used to be, and he wanted that back. She was fun. And she was wild herself. She certainly enjoyed herself around him. There had never been anything that Cory had done with Emma that she didn’t want to do. That was the complexity of Emma, and one of the things he loved about her. Or had loved about her. This contrast in personalities, being this cute and innocent and lovable girl one moment, then the feisty and assertive and take-control woman the next.

This same girl who had fought for him and been so loyal and loving to him had also helped him dream for something more.

Until, of course, it became more than what either of them wanted, and the dream turned into something bigger. Something heavier.

Cory worked on another bottle since he’d already drained the vodka. He needed to tell the kid to buy more vodka. But it didn’t matter. He was tired and drifting in and out of sleep. He’d seen himself twice on ESPN and swore at himself both times. If he didn’t change the channel, the third time he might break the television screen with a flying bottle.

Emma.

He wanted to call her and say come on over. Just to relive old times. There was still something between them. He’d noticed it all afternoon.

Yeah, idiot, it’s a ten-year-old kid, and his name is Tyler.

What a buzz kill. The boy. The buzz-kill boy. Oh, he was loving Tyler, but when it came to Emma, there was always going to be Tyler. Cory couldn’t escape that reality.

He felt warm and slow. The pictures and words on the television plodded by. He caught bits and pieces. He didn’t know what time it was, didn’t care. He couldn’t sleep, because he wanted Emma next to him. And if it couldn’t be Emma, then maybe someone else, but he hated feeling alone.

He’d only felt this way his entire life, and after thirty-three years he still wasn’t used to it.

Boo hoo cry me a river suck it up you pathetic loser.

Maybe that was his father talking. At this point Cory wasn’t sure.

His last sip of the night spilled a mouthful on the bed, but he didn’t mind because he didn’t notice.

Soon he was out cold, sitting up in bed with the television blaring and empty bottles around him, and somewhere in the back of his blurry mind Emma and Tyler were watching with the rest of the disappointed world.

The pounding in his head from the night before gets a little worse when he cranks up his iPod to the familiar song. Freddie Mercury and crew sing “We will rock you,” and Cory drowns out the rest of the world. Not just the locker room and the stadium, but the memories and shadows that follow him. He moves his head, and the dull throb feels better. The voices and the whispers fade away as he feels his body getting ready. It’s always the same. This crowd in his headphones cheering him on right before the guitar wails, muffling every other voice wanting to speak.

Nobody out there knows where he comes from or what he’s had to do to get here. Nor do they care. What they want is the long ball and the chant of the home run. What they want is a W and a good time and to leave the ballpark with a good feeling in the gut from a few beers and a few runs batted in. Cory knows there’s one reason he’s here, and that’s it, and that’s all he cares about. To go out there and do this thing that he’s heard is a blessing and a gift, which is all fine, but it’s just about hitting a ball. He doesn’t really love this sport, just because he’s getting paid an insane amount to hit a little ball. That’s all. Hit a ball and become a champion.